


Chasing Euphoria

by LetmeliveTM



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, I Love You Scene (Sherlock: The Final Problem), M/M, Parentlock, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, but it's what we all wanted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-11 07:28:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28347648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetmeliveTM/pseuds/LetmeliveTM
Summary: What if it wasn't Molly Sherlock had to call in The Final Problem?What if it was a certain army doctor who captured the heart of our eccentric consulting detective instead?
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [In which confessions are made]

The next cell was much like the two before it. Cold metal walls with scuffs and dents marring each of them, a tv mounted on the wall to the door’s right. This time, instead of there being a large window looking out to the sea, there was a coffin in the middle of the room, propped up on two apparatuses with its lid taken off, exposing the fresh, white linen that lined the wooden coffin; ready to be used. The lid was leaning against the far-left wall, opposite the tv, with the front facing away from the room. A large vent above the coffin whistled over the static from the tv as the harsh winds from outside swept into the room and ruffled the soft fabric inside the coffin. It made the cell colder than the ones preceding it and Sherlock clutched his gun in both hands.

He entered cautiously, ready to shoot at any time as he took in the cell’s appearance, keeping his grip on the gun tight even after deeming the room safe enough the enter further. He peered into the coffin, examining the spotless linen for any telling creases or stains, but there was nothing. Even the wood was nicely polished and cleaned so that it shone in the muted light coming from the vent. Sherlock could hear his brother, Mycroft, entering the cell at a weary pace behind him while the metal door slid closed with a metallic screech that set their teeth on edge. 

“So!” 

The tv screen burst into life and the slightly unsaturated image of their sister, Eurus, filled it. She looked delighted, her hands pressed together, palm to palm, in front of her face in a parody of Sherlock’s thinking pose. Her smile didn’t quite reach her sunken eyes despite the thinly veiled glee that swirled in their depths.

“Coffin. Problem; someone is about to die. It will be, as I understand it, a tragedy” She continued, bottom lip sticking out slightly in a faux pout. Sherlock adjusted his grip on the gun. “So many days not lived, so many words unsaid, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera-”

“Yes, yes, yes, and this, I presume, will be their coffin?” Sherlock interrupted, indicating the coffin with the barrel of his gun. He couldn’t stand the mock sadness in his sister’s voice and the carelessness with which she spoke of someone being killed, someone (Sherlock could assume) close to him. Eurus didn’t need to tell him she had killed before for him to know.

“Whose coffin, Sherlock” Eurus answered, her smile gone and her eyebrows raised in a deceptively open expression, “Please, start your deductions. I will apply some, context in a moment”

Eurus sat back in her chair, as if preparing to watch a tv show and Sherlock rounded the coffin the stand at the head, huffing out a short sigh. He glanced over at his brother from across the coffin and their eyes met for a shot moment, though it was long enough for them to know what the other was thinking.  
This needs to stop.

“Well,” Sherlock began, switching the gun from one sweaty palm to the other, “Considering the, frankly, ridiculous curtesy of headroom, I’d say this is for a person of a about 5’5, so likely a woman or a shorter male” He began to circle the coffin, hands gesticulating despite the dangerous, and loaded weapon that was clutched in one of them. “This is a practical and informed choice; balance of probability suggests it’s for an unmarried or widowed person who is distant from their relatives. That much is suggested by the economy of choice; acquainted with the concept of death, but unsentimental about the necessity of disposal. Also, the lining of the coffin-”

“Yes, very good Sherlock, or we could just look at the name on the lid”

Sherlock whipped around to find Mycroft holding the lid of the coffin. He hadn’t even noticed his brother slip around behind him to retrieve the coffin lid and he felt his cheeks warm from embarrassment as he sheepishly walked towards him. Mycroft turned the lid around so that the front faced Sherlock. 

There was a single golden plaque screwed into the light-coloured wood with only three words engraved onto it;

I Love You

“Only, it isn’t a name” Mycroft said with a humourless smile, watching his brother’s shoulder’s sag in defeat as he turned away to return to the side of the coffin. “It must be for someone who loves you, brother dear. This is all about you, everything here”

There was a hint of resentment in Mycroft’s voice that Sherlock was not too keen to unpack. He ignored it in favour of staring into the coffin once more and resting his hands on the rim, just above where the head would be, as he began the flip through all the possible people it could be meant for.

The Woman came to mind first, what with her bold forwardness, flirty texts and general love for the thrill that Sherlock seemed to ignite into the world. Though, that was impossible; she was halfway across the world by now, doing only God knows what with her time. She was out of the question. 

Then there was Molly. She seemed to fit the description; practical about death, unmarried, 5’5. But there was something that didn’t quite match up properly, like a puzzle piece that’s been bent or damaged in some way, so that it no longer slots into its designated spot. 

The width. The coffin looked a little too wide for someone of Molly’s physique and he quickly dismissed the idea of it being meant for her.

He struggled to think of anyone else. All of the obvious options that matched the profile had been marked off. All except…

“John…” Sherlock said softly.

But it couldn’t be. John had been adamant, from the very start, that he was not interested in men. ‘Not gay’ might has well have been written on his forehead in permanent marker from all the times he’d said it. He had even married a woman, Mary, for god’s sake. He could not love Sherlock. Even if he matched perfectly with the description of whoever the coffin was for, even if Sherlock could sometimes feel lingering glances on the back of his neck and if John sometimes gripped his elbow for a little longer than necessary or moved to touch him before aborting at the last minute. Sherlock could explain it all away as platonic. A way to reassure John that Sherlock was still alive and well after everything that has happened. 

“He’s perfectly safe. For the moment...” Eurus spoke up again, leaning forward and picking up her remote. She pressed a button and the tv screen flickered before splitting into four. One section was black with a glowing white timer frozen at 3 minutes printed into the darkness, while the other three sections were all different angles of John’s living room. John was sitting on the sofa, feet resting on the coffee table and leaned back into the soft cushions. He had Rosie cradled in his arms and she snoozed on his shoulder while he gently stroked her golden curls. 

“His home is rigged to explode in approximately three minutes, unless I hear the release code from his lips.” Eurus continued; the enjoyment she was getting out of these tests evident in her voice. Sherlock rounded the coffin again to stand in front of the tv screen, staring in abject horror at the image of John so relaxed and unaware of the danger he was in. His sister’s words hadn’t even processed in his mind until he realized he didn’t know the release code. “I’m calling him on your phone, Sherlock. Make him say it” Eurus’ words came through the intercom and Sherlock looked up towards the camera in the corner, pointing straight towards the coffin. 

“What do I-” Sherlock paused and turned to face the coffin lid, finding the inscribed plaque winking derisively back at him in the dim light. “Oh…”  
His heart ached as he reread those three simple, yet somehow terrifying, words. The words he’s thought to himself when his eyes caught John’s own ocean blues from across the room. Words he whispered into darkness when he was alone and John was safely away and asleep. Words he could never bring himself to say, even if the moment felt right. They’d clog in his throat and jostle and jumble around into something entirely different by the time they’d reached his tongue and fell past his lips. If John felt any small amount of what Sherlock felt for him, then he would not wish to force his friend to say it as though it meant nothing.

Mycroft’s face twisted into something close to sympathetic and Sherlock turned back to the tv screen to avoid the unfamiliar expression on his brother’s face. He didn’t need any pity, especially not from his brother, it did nothing to aid him and would only make him feel less capable to save his friend. 

“Oh!” Eurus suddenly piped up again and Sherlock grit his teeth against the voice he was quickly growing to despise, “One important restriction; you are not allowed to mention, in any way, that his life is in danger. You may not, at any point, suggest that there is any form of crisis. If you do, I will end this session and his life. Are we clear?”

Sherlock nodded stiffly and, no sooner than he had, the monotonous dial up sound of the phone, accompanied by Moriarty imitating the ticking of a clock, filled the cell. He could hear the ringtone John had given specifically to his contact through the tv speakers and watched as his friend stirred from his position on the sofa. He made no move to reach for his phone that continued to ring on the coffee table, instead he settled further into the pillows, holding his daughter closer. 

“Why isn’t he answering?” Sherlock muttered, brows furrowed and the hand that wasn’t holding the gun clenched and unclenched. John still didn’t reach for his phone, seemingly content to ignore it until the call went to voicemail.

“You never answer your phone” Mycroft from behind him, his eyes were also fixated on the screen and his hand was pressed under his chin. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, struggling under the thick tension that hung in the room.

“Yes, but it’s me calling” Sherlock retorted, turning his head slightly to address his brother and catching sight of his pale face and twitching hand. He turned back quickly when the phone went to voicemail and his heart sank. He dragged his hand across his face and repositioned himself in front of the tv as Eurus spoke up again.

“Okay, okay. I’ll call one more time” She said, sounding almost disappointed as she called John again. Sherlock swallowed the bile crawling up his throat and his eyes trailed to Rosie in John’s arms. She was wearing the little, knitted onesie Mrs Hudson had made for her and she slept with her mouth slightly open. He longed to hold her close and curl up around her. Keep her safe and warm and happy. She was probably happy right now, but she didn’t know much different, and she certainly didn’t know she could blow up at any second.

This time when the phone began ringing again, John visibly sighed a shifted carefully so as not to disturb Rosie. He lifted his legs from the coffee table and rose to his feet and, for one horrible second, Sherlock thought he might leave to escape the incessant ringing. But John leaned down and picked up his phone, answering the call as he left to the room to put Rosie in her bed. 

“Sherlock? Is something wrong?” John’s voice was soft and tired and the creaking of the stairs could be heard in the background.  
Sherlock swallowed and hesitated before he replied, 

“John, I just need you to do something very easy for me, without asking why”  
John’s sigh crackled over the receiver and he paused before replying, the only sound being soft rustle of bedsheets as he gently lay Rosie in her cot. He was quiet for so long that Sherlock almost started to speak again.

“Look, I’m not having a very good day, Sherlock, I’m not coming all the way over to Baker Street just so that you can use my phone.” He said and Sherlock felt irritation bloom in his chest. Whether it was at John’s lack of cooperation or his own actions for making people assume he only ever called to ask for favours, he wasn’t sure. 

He glanced at the camera where he knew Eurus was watching him and answered quickly, “No, no, it’s nothing like that I just-… I need you to repeat these words exactly” He replied, wrangling his voice into some semblance of calm as he watched John return to the living room. He noted the very slow, reluctant tread as his friend rounded the sofa and dropped back onto the fluffy cushions, curling up in a corner and wrapping his free arm around himself. Was he cold? Why was he cold? His home almost always seemed to be warmer than Baker Street. Sherlock shook his head to clear it. He was getting off topic.

“What words? Sherlock, I’m really not in the mood” John sagged into the sofa and stared blankly ahead. It was so unlike John’s usual demeanour that Sherlock felt something clench in his chest. His heart, probably, it seems he did have one after all.

The screen momentarily filled with an image of Moriarty as he made the tick tock sounds of a clock again and Sherlock huffed a small sigh through his nose, “John, please repeat these words for me” the screen switched back to the angles of John’s living room and Sherlock took a deep breath before continuing on, “I love you”

John bristled an held his phone away from ear to look at it, frowning as if it had grown a pair of eyes and was staring back at him accusingly. He raised his second hand and his thumb hovered over the end-call button, “Not now”

Sherlock’s heart picked up its already quickened pace, beating like a rabbit’s in the jaws of a fox, “No! No, John, please! This is important-” 

“Softer, Sherlock. Remember, you can’t let him know he is in any kind of danger” Eurus reprimanded, her voice an odd mixture of warning and amused.

Sherlock exhaled slowly and closed his eyes to collect his scattered thoughts, concentrating on the unsteady breathing coming from John on the other end of the phone. “Please, John” He said gently, opening his eyes again in time to see John’s face soften ever so slightly with the phone pressed against his ear again. “Just say it”

John shook his head despite thinking they couldn’t see him, his face was crumpled as though he was in pain and his bottom lip trembled minutely. “I c-…” His voice cracked and he took a deep, trembling breath before he tried again, “I can’t… I’m sorry”

Sherlock shifted, resisting the urge to wring his hands when he caught sight of the steadily decreasing time. He watched it in horror for a moment, the reality of the situation suddenly picking through the rush of adrenaline that had spurred him on since the first ring of the phone. “Why? Of course you can, it’s not like-” he swallowed hard, “It’s not like it means anything” He said, hoping the tremor in his voice wasn’t noticeable. He still didn’t believe that John could ever love him back – ‘Not gay’, ’Not a couple’, ‘Not his date’ – even if he was gay, no one would want have to deal with Sherlock’s constant demands and the danger that seemed to follow him wherever he went. Even John wouldn’t want that forever.

A shadow darkened John’s features as his jaw tightened and he began to pick at a loose thread on the woollen blanket draped over the back of the sofa, his hand shaking. He sighed irritably, “You’re a right bastard, you know that?” He said, voice dangerously low has he viciously tugged the thread from the blanket, looping it around his trembling fingers and tying small, tight knots, “I’m gonna go, call when you-” 

“No! Don’t hang up! Do not hang up!” Sherlock raised his voice, reaching out towards the screen as if he could touch John, could encircle him in his arms and whisper a thousand ‘Sorrys’ and ‘I love yous’ until the pain went away for good. 

“Sherlock” Eurus’ cautionary voice came through the intercom and Sherlock clenched his fists.

“Why?” John asked, his own voice beginning to shake as he leaned forward, hooking an arm under his legs to hold them close to his chest, “Why are you doing this, Sherlock? I can’t. You know I can’t” John said, shifting again to plant his feet on the carpet, feet sinking into the soft fabric as he rested his elbows on his knees. 

Sherlock frowned, his head tilting to side slightly as he tried to pick out the meaning behind those trembling words. “No, I…why can’t-”

“Because it’s true!” John snapped and Sherlock flinched, memories of a cold morgue and angry fists briefly clouding his already foggy mind before he blinked them back. He didn’t mean it; he hadn't been thinking straight. He wouldn’t do it again. 

John dragged a hand across his face like he knew Sherlock had flinched and he sighed heavily, exhaustion colouring his entire demeanour. There were unshed tears in his eyes and his breathing was sharp and stilted through the staticky receiver.

“…What?” was all Sherlock managed to say once the images had faded and he heard Mycroft’s breath hitch behind him. 

“It’s true, Sherlock” John repeated, voice muffled from where it was hidden behind his hand and quieter than before, defeated and somehow even more tired. “It’s true and it always has been. From the very first time I saw you” 

Sherlock’s heart rose to his throat in either despair or elation, he couldn’t tell over thunderous beats it made and the haziness of his mind. The adrenaline that had seem to fizzle out in the small moment of realization came rushing back like a dangerous flood and he was suddenly struck by the opportunity this presented. “John, I-…I-if it’s true then say it anyway”

John laughed, though there was no humour behind it. It was far from his usual sunny laughter that bubbled out of him after a witty remark from Sherlock or whenever Rosie smiled or giggled at him. No, this was a cold and disquieted laugh that spoke of years of trauma left undealt with in a dusty box in the corner of his mind. “You fucking arse” He said, and Sherlock nodded minutely even though John couldn’t see him. John was smiling now, as he was known to do when he was extremely angry or frustrated. It wasn’t a happy smile by any means and it forced Sherlock to suppress a shudder. The waves raging in the howling winds outside of the cell were reflected in John’s eyes that had lost some of the vibrant ocean blue they’d had during the early years of their friendship. 

“It doesn’t work like that, Sherlock” He said quietly and he started to shake his leg irritably. Sherlock’s bottom lip trembled, and he knew John was right and that this was cruel, but one glance at the timer made him bite his lip to keep it still and avert his gaze back to John’s hunched image on the sofa.

John sighed heavily, “Give me a reason why. One valid reason, and I’ll say it” he said, moving so that he was now leaning back against the sofa cushions again while his leg continued to shake.

Sherlock stared at his friend for a long moment before he opened his mouth to speak-

“Final thirty seconds” Eurus said suddenly and Sherlock’s eyes once again darted to the timer still ticking down.

“Because I-” even with the comforting knowledge that his feelings were reciprocated, Sherlock’s words still clogged in his throat and made it harder to breathe. He could feel them jumbling up again like so many times before and panicked slightly, “I-I-”

“Sherlock…” Mycroft whispered and Sherlock realized he’d come to stand closer to him. His voice was comforting in a way Sherlock hadn’t heard it in years and he felt suddenly calmer than before. Not at all relaxed, far from it, but his mind had cleared enough for the words to come out smoothly enough.

“I love you” 

John froze. He was still for a long moment in which Sherlock kept glancing, anxiously, at the timer, until he raised his other hand to also hold the phone and press it closer to his ear, “Again…say it again” he breathed, and Sherlock obliged quickly.

“I love you, John”

John pressed his fist to his mouth as he worked to keep his tears at bay and Sherlock wanted to hold him so bad. His ocean eyes were shiny and his vision must be so cloudy because he wasn’t even blinking as he breathed through the overwhelming emotions that had come onto him in a wave. 

“I-…” John swallowed, “I love you too”

Both Sherlock and Mycroft breathed twin sighs of relief and the timer stopped at two seconds. Sherlock rubbed his face with both hands whilst Mycroft retreated back to his original spot next to the head of the coffin with his fingers massaging the bridge of his nose. 

“I love you, so much, Sherlock” John repeated and Sherlock looked back up at the tv screen, a tiny, involuntary smile tugging at his lips in spite of the situation. It was like everything had stopped to accommodate for this little moment between the detective and his doctor, like they were standing right in front of each other, reading each other’s emotions through their silences. 

John huffed a small disbelieving laugh before he opened his mouth the speak again, “Just, tell me that-”

The call was suddenly ended and screen switched back to the image of Eurus. She looked a mixture of intrigued and pleased with herself as she peered at her brother’s fallen expression, “Fascinating” She breathed, tilting her head and watching Sherlock’s eyes dart about the screen as if there was some small piece of John left on the tv that he could recover with just a look. 

“Bring him back” Sherlock sneered, anger bubbling under his skin and singing through his veins like poison, “Call him back! I won, I did what you said and saved him, you have to let me speak to him” his voice had risen and he spun on his heel to pace the length of the room in an attempt to diffuse some of the pent-up energy he’d built up.

“Saved him?” Eurus asked incredulously, the ghost of laughter dancing through her words, “From what?”  
Sherlock paused, his back to the tv screen with a frown darkening his features. He could see Mycroft out the corner of his eye, staring defeatedly at Eurus’ face displayed on the tv with his arms dropped limply at his sides.

“Oh, do be sensible, there were no explosives in his little house” Eurus continued, her voice growing quickly irritable like she was speaking to a petulant child and not her older brother, “Why would I be so clumsy?”

Sherlock sagged in defeat, his grip on the gun loosening to the point where it was dangerously close to falling from his trembling hand. Mycroft sighed like the weight of the world had pressed itself onto his shoulders and he slowly moved to stand beside his brother. He didn’t touch Sherlock, he wouldn’t dare in the state his little brother had been worked into, he just stood close by; a comforting presence that, while he would never admit it, Sherlock appreciated. 

“You didn’t win, you lost” Eurus continued to jibe and Sherlock just wanted her to shut up, “Look what you did to him. He doesn’t even know you meant it; he thinks this was all some silly little experiment to play with his emotions”

Sherlock was beginning to shake all over now. ‘Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, just SHUT. UP.’

“And look what you did to yourself” Eurus didn’t show any signs of stopping until Sherlock was reduced to a shivering heap on the cold, cell floor. She wanted to break him. And she was succeeding. “All those complicated little emotions, I lost count” 

“Sherlock, breathe” Mycroft whispered beside him, and Sherlock realized he had been holding his breath. He exhaled shakily and held the gun out for Mycroft to take, which he did silently.

“Emotional context, Sherlock, it destroys you every time” 

Sherlock clenched and unclenched his fists. He wanted to answer back. He wanted to scream and shout and tell Eurus to shut up. To leave him alone and let him curl up by himself for the rest of his days because he couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t take the pain anymore and he wanted out. Out of this cursed facility or the world in general, he wasn’t yet sure. The world just kept turning too fast for him to keep up and he was getting dizzy and sick on the idea that he had hurt John and he just wanted it all to stop. 

A hand gripped his shoulder and Sherlock realized he had been teetering precariously on his own feet, the nausea being very real and very disorienting. He was going to be sick. Mycroft held him upright without saying a word, just keeping Sherlock on his feet while he sent a venomous look to his sister. 

“Now, pull yourself together” Eurus sat back with an air of finality and Sherlock wanted cry because she had finally stopped. She must think he is suitably broken by now. “I need you at peak efficiency, the next task is no going to be this easy”

The screen returned back to static and Sherlock finally allowed a soft sob past his lips,

“That…was easy?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [In which Sherlock and John are sleepy]

Sirens wailed in the distance, the flashes of red and blue appearing on the walls not long after. Eurus clung to Sherlock as the sirens reached their full volume and he could barely register the pain of his sister’s fingers gripping his back over the pounding of his head. The adrenaline of trying to save that little girl on the plane and having deep, untouched memories resurfacing and being rewritten in the span of only a few hours had left his mind in ruin. The ache had spread through his entire head and his jaw had locked like a vice, teeth grinding under the weight.

Heavy footsteps thundered up the stairs and Eurus’ grip tightened even more. Sherlock wanted to comfort her, to tell her it would be alright, even though he knew he would be lying, but his mouth would not cooperate; his tongue a dead weight behind his teeth. The door swung open and the room was filled with noise. Too much noise. Sherlock’s ears rang and he vaguely registered his sister being tugged from his loose grasp, her hands untangling from his coat like cat claws in a blanket. Someone pulled him to his feet and said something along the lines of ‘Easy, lad’ in a low, gruff voice he couldn’t recognise when he swayed dangerously far to the side. He was guided back down the stairs of his first childhood home, the walls and floor bubbling and swirling like lava slopping down the side of a volcano. The sparrows that decorated the wallpaper convulsed and wriggled in his peripheral as though trying to burst through the paper. He closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he was outside, the cold wind biting at any exposed skin and police officers and paramedics milling around the entrance to Musgrave. The pain in his head had lessened enough that, when a Paramedic came over (37, newly married, infertile), he was able to answer her questions with minimal struggle. She offered him painkillers for his head and recommended he seek therapy for his experience, before settling him on the back step of an ambulance and draping a bright orange shock blanket over his shoulders. A little way away, Sherlock could see Eurus being escorted into a helicopter that sat in the stretch of field beyond Musgrave’s front garden. He looked away and down at his hands, unable to watch his sister be taken back into custody.

He wasn’t sure for how long he sat there, staring at his clasped hands and trying not to think about anything that might make him sick, but at some point a familiar voice cut through the din.

"Sherlock?"

He looked up into the face of Greg Lestrade and something eased in the weight on his chest. The familiarity of the DI’s face was a clarity in the foggy maze of his mind and he clung to it like a lifeline.

"How are you doing?" Greg asked, settling beside Sherlock and watching him. He wasn’t expectant, though he looked at the detective with thinly veiled concern.

Sherlock shrugged, unable to put what he felt into words, if he was even feeling anything at all. He took a second to take stock of himself and could only find the retreating thrums of his headache confined to the back of his skull. Perhaps he should be worried about that, but he couldn’t muster up the energy to be anything more than what he was now.

"Thought so" Greg smiled weakly before falling silent, the comforting warmth of his presence keeping Sherlock grounded in the wake of Eurus’ destruction. Closing his eyes again, Sherlock could see the splintered foundations of his Mind Palace, the thick fog that rolled through the hallways, the room dedicated to subjects and people all left in disarray. All but one.

"Where’s John?" His voice was still hoarse and quiet, his jaw aching from being clenched for so long.

"Oh, he’s here. I came to fetch you so he could take you home but…I wasn’t sure if you were all finished up here" Greg explained and glanced back into the empty ambulance. Sherlock huffed a bit through his nose, indignation filling the void where he had once felt fear and anger and simply nothing as he stood abruptly. The world immediately spun on it’s axis and he stumbled, shoes squeaking on the wet grass. "Hey, hey, easy, Sunshine" Greg had leapt up alongside Sherlock and gently held the disoriented detective until the fields stopped whirling around him like a tornado. 

"I’m fine" Sherlock snapped once the ground was once again solid under his feet, bristling like a harassed peacock.

"Clearly" Greg said with raised eyebrows. His hands slowly moved from where they had come to rest on Sherlock’s shoulders and he glanced out across the expanse of field, "He’ll probably be on the outskirts of the crime scene, we can’t let him in, obviously, but if you’re all clear then I reckon he’ll be waiting for you"

Sherlock nodded carefully and tucked his blanket tighter around his shoulders, vaguely surprised at the (albeit minimal) comfort it provided. He’d never thought he’d be grateful for a shock blanket, but here he was. "Is Mycroft okay?" He asked after a moment and watched the DI’s face shift into a small smile.

"He’s alright, a bit shaken up, but other than that I reckon he’ll be fine in no time"

Sherlock nodded again, "Good. Take care of him though, he’s not as strong as he likes to think" he shouldered his blanket higher and began to walk in the direction of the luminous police tape.

"Will do" Greg called after him, shoving his hands in his pockets and watching the detective trudge through the grass.

"Thanks, Greg" Sherlock said over his shoulder, not turning to gouge the DI’s reaction, but he knew that he must be smiling.

As he walked through the crime scene, Sherlock briefly slipped into his Mind Palace and swiftly navigating the clearing halls to his ‘John Wing’. It was mostly in tact with a few files strewn across some of the rooms and the John that lived in his head was not present; probably surveying the damage. There was a room he hadn’t seen before, one that was bare with just a table in the middle that had a note atop it’s surface. Upon closer inspection, Sherlock realised that room’s purpose with the three words on the slip of paper.

I love you.

Coming back out of his Mind Palace with a mixture of emotions, Sherlock ducked under the police tape and spotted John leaning against his car a few meters away. He was staring at his shoes with his hands fidgeting in his jacket pockets.  
Something about the sight of his best friend made Sherlock stop in his tracks, unable to move further or tear his gaze away from the man a small distance away. The events that took place at Sherrinford over the phone flashed before his eyes and he wondered if John was angry at him. It wouldn’t be the first time and he couldn’t blame him. He’d left him out again and put him and Rosie in danger in the process. Sherlock chewed on his bottom lip and took a tiny step back, but it was too late. John had looked up and their eyes met almost immediately.

They stood and stared at each other for a long moment, John looking like he couldn’t quite believe his eyes while Sherlock looked closer to a deer caught in headlights. However, John was the first to break from the stupor and darted towards his friend. Sherlock didn’t have time to react when John collided with his chest and the two of them toppled over into the long grass. John giggled a little hysterically into the fabric of Sherlock’s shirt before sitting upright and pulling a slightly dazed detective up with him, gripping him in a tight embrace.

"Christ, Sherlock, I was so worried" He breathed, lifting a hand to gently card his fingers through Sherlock’s tangled curls, carefully pulling out knots as he tried to calm his breathing.

Something about John’s presence around him broke the rest of the dam that had been blocking all of Sherlock’s pent up and repressed emotions. He wrapped his arms around John let out a shuddering sob, quiet but definitely there, and held him closer. "I’m sorry" He mumbled into the doctor’s shoulder, unable to stop the oncoming waves of tears, "I’m so sorry, John"

John rubbed gentle circles into Sherlock’s back, but didn’t speak, just rocked them slowly and let the detective cry for the first time in god knows how long. He wasn’t sure what Sherlock was apologising for and he didn’t doubt that the man himself probably had no idea either, but he knew they would have to talk about it (about everything) and apologies could only go so far at mending what had become of their relationship. At some point he hushed Sherlock’s continuous apologies with a soft "Ssh" and waited for the quiet sobs to lessen into sniffles and hitched breaths. "Got it all out now?" He asked and pulled away from the embrace, watching Sherlock nod and wipe his nose and eyes with his sleeve. They sat there as Sherlock composed himself and John gently took one of his hands into his own, stroking his thumb across the back and feeling the bumps of the delicate bones beneath thin skin.

"Alright, let’s get you home then, hm?" John said standing and pulling Sherlock to his feet along with him. His legs buzzed with pins and needles and his head swam slightly, the quick recession of his fear and anxiety leaving him with something akin to vertigo. Sherlock seemed a little worse off than him as he stumbled and gripped John’s shoulders for balance. It hurt to see the usually cool and composed detective so vulnerable and clumsy, but John swallowed the lump that rose in his throat and instead guided Sherlock over to his car.

"Not Baker Street" said Sherlock suddenly, stopping in his tracks by the passenger side door.

John looked up at him in confusion, brow furrowed, "Why not?" He asked, keeping a steadying hand on his friend’s elbow. Sherlock’s jaw tightened and he kept his gaze turned away from John.  
The doctor gently shook Sherlock’s arm, "Sherlock" he prompted, trying to catch his eye, "Talk to me, Sherlock, tell me where you want to go or we’ll be here forever"

"Can…" Sherlock bit his lip, "C-can we go to yours?"

John’s eyebrows raised, slightly taken aback. Of the few times Sherlock had visited the home John had shared with Mary, he’d given off the impression that he disliked the place; usually deigning to stand instead of sit on one of the chairs or engrossing himself in his phone for the whole time. The one time he had sat down in the living room was brief and he only perched a little awkwardly on the edge. John had once caught his face curling into a thinly veiled look of resentment at a photo of him, Mary and Rosie on their sofa not long after she was born. He had brushed it off as a buried sense of hatred for Mary after being shot by her and was quick to distract the detective, finding relief in the way his face had cleared once the picture was pushed out of mind. Still, in his current state, John wasn’t in any place to deny Sherlock much of anything, so he nodded with a small smile.

"Yeah, course" He said, opening the car door and watching Sherlock gingerly sink into the seat before closing it again.

As he sat in the driver’s seat, Sherlock spoke up, "Thank you" He murmured, just above a whisper and John glanced over at him. He looked back with an almost blank face and you wouldn’t have thought he had been bawling his eyes out just moments before if it weren’t for his red rimmed eyes and dried tear tracks still staining his cheeks. John wanted to gently wipe all traces of Sherlock’s sorrow from his face and push his mess of curls from his forehead so that he could kiss it, if only to see that small flicker of a smile. Instead, he just smiled at the detective.

"Anytime"

•

•

When they opened the door to John’s house, they were greeted by a very concerned, very tired Molly. She was dressed in her pyjamas under a thick dressing gown and her hair was tied in a loose plait that hung over her shoulder.

"Oh Christ, John, is everything alright?" She asked, brown eyes wide as she reached out a hand to place on John’s shoulder.

"Yeah, Molly, everything’s alright" He said as her eyes darted to a spot behind him and her face paled. Well, no good trying to hide it now.

"Sherlock?" Molly brushed past John and he walked further into the house, slipping into the kitchen whilst Molly spoke in a soft tone to a marginally unresponsive Sherlock. John went about making tea, the motions a comforting routine he’d learned from a young age. While he waited for the teas to steep, he quickly headed upstairs to check on Rosie and, finding her sound asleep in her cot, poked his head into the living room. Sherlock was leaned back in the sofa with Molly beside him, murmuring softly to him and rubbing one of his hands between her own. Lips twitching fondly, John ducked back into the kitchen and finished making the teas, taking a deep breath to calm his still racing heart before taking the tray of mugs into the living room.

Sherlock looked up when he entered and offered a very small, weak smile. John set the tray on the coffee table and sat on the other side of Sherlock.

"Are you two gonna tell me what happened now?" Molly asked, glancing between the two men and pausing her ministrations on Sherlock’s still ice cold hand. "You were really frantic when I came to watch Rosie" she settled her gaze on John and noted the minute flush of his cheeks. He sighed and shifted positions slightly, maintaining a respectable distance from Sherlock whilst still remaining a comforting presence.

"Perhaps it would be easier to discuss in the morning" He said after a moment of deliberation, glancing at the clock which read 3:38am. Molly bit her bottom lip, the niggling feeling of curiosity and frustration pressing at the back of her mind the only thing keeping her exhaustion at bay. Even so, she nodded slowly.

"Yeah, okay, I think this one needs it" She conceded, gently patting Sherlock’s hand and smiling at the very small huff that could have been laughter from the detective.

"You can take my room, Sherlock, I’ll sleep down here" John said, rising from the sofa and, with the help of Molly, pulling Sherlock up with him. Molly was sleeping in the only the guest bedroom and John didn’t want to subject his still slightly delirious friend to the lumpy sofa that had been there when he and Mary had first moved in. He really should get around to changing it before a spring popped through one of the cushions.

The detective frowned, "You don’t have to do that, John…" he said, "I’ll be fine on the sofa"

John shook his head, "No, Sherlock, you need a proper nights sleep and a bed is the best way to get it" he said, but Sherlock’s frown only deepened and he opened his mouth to reply when Molly interrupted.

"God, you two, just share the bed" She said and both men turned their incredulous gazes towards her. She tried not to laugh at how similar their expressions were as she continued, "It’s a double right? You’ll be fine, stop being babies and get up there"

Sherlock and John exchanged a look and John shrugged. Rolling her eyes, Molly hugged them both before heading upstairs with a quiet goodnight to each of them.

"C’mon" John said once the door to the guest bedroom had clicked shut, holding out a hand for Sherlock to take, which he did after a moments hesitation. It didn’t register in John’s mind that he had held hands with Sherlock all the way up to the bathroom, where he left the detective with instructions to clean up before bed, until he was rummaging through a drawer in his room for some pyjamas that might fit the lanky detective. It gave him pause and that familiar fluttering feeling filled his chest at the ghost of Sherlock’s cool palm against his own. Shuddering a little, John found an oversized jumper his sister had given to him one Christmas that should fit Sherlock comfortably enough and went about finding some pants to go with it.

Sherlock emerged from the bathroom looking a touch better than he had back at Musgrave and John tossed him the jumper, "That’s all I could find that might fit you, not sure about pants though" he said, not turning from his drawer as he did so. Sherlock huffed a tiny laugh before the soft whisper of fabric met John’s ears.

"Don’t worry about it, John, I’ll live" He said, and John waited until he heard the detective slide under the duvet before turning back around. Sherlock looked impossibly small all alone in the bed and his eyes were already closed, fatigue drawing lines in his face as he buried himself further under the duvet.

"Okay, I’m just gonna get changed and check on Rosie, yeah?" John said and Sherlock nodded against the pillow, withdrawing a hand from beneath the bed cover and waving it dismissively before it dropped onto the pillow beside his face.

Shaking his head fondly, John left the bedroom and took his first full breath since heading upstairs with Sherlock. The air was thick between them and a tension followed them whenever they were together. John knew it must be from the phone call that had started his whole involvement in the situation, the one that had seemingly broken them both and caused a rift in their relationship. They had both confessed their long suppressed feelings for each other, but they still couldn’t breach the lines drawn from an early stage of their friendship. There was still a barrier between them and the simple confession wasn’t enough to break it. It was frustrating, but John knew he had to be cautious. Everything was fragile and raw from past events and the last thing John wanted was to push Sherlock away again or vice-versa.

John sighed and quietly slipped into his daughter’s room, leaning over the bars of her cot to press a featherlight kiss to her forehead. She stirred slightly and one tiny hand curled into a loose fist, trying to grab at her father with little success. She settled back down and John smiled. The love he had for Rosie sometimes surprised him and he knew he wanted give her as good a life as he could possibly manage. He had partially abandoned her after Mary’s death, but now he found it hard to part himself from his little girl.

Taking one last look at her, John silently left the room and peeked into his own bedroom. Sherlock was already fast asleep, his breaths deep and even and his face clear of strife. John was careful when he slipped into the other side of the bed and clicked off the lamp, plunging the room into near darkness. The moonlight outside gleamed through the gossamer curtains and he closed his eyes against the gentle glow. The exhaustion that had hovered over his head all night finally came forward and he dozed off with the comforting sound of Sherlock’s steady breaths beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter DONE  
> I’m feeling confident about finishing this but you never know, especially with my GCSEs just around the corner.  
> Anyway, updates will be irregular and will probs be even more so when school starts up again (if it does at all what with covid and the shoddy way it’s being dealt with over here in the England) so heads up for that!  
> Lotta love  
> ~ G


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [In which there is a lot of tea and talking]

John woke to the sound of pigeons crooning outside his window. The pale morning light coated the inside of his eyelids orange and when he opened his eyes it gleamed into his face, forcing him to quickly shut them again with a soft grunt. He turned to lay on his other side before opening his eyes again and was greeted with the sight of a peacefully asleep Sherlock beside him. Memories that had been held back during his short time between sleep and consciousness flashed through his mind and he dragged a hand across his face, suppressing a tired groan.

Sherlock looked a lot younger in his sleep; like the young teenager he often acted like with his face relaxed and dark curls falling in a messy cloud around his head, ringed by golden light in a kind of halo. John thought back to find out if he had ever seen Sherlock asleep before and could only vaguely recall a time before the fall when he’d come home from shopping to find his roommate passed out on the sofa. Watching Sherlock’s face a little longer, John debated waiting for him to wake up before leaving the warm comfort of the bed, but the pressure in his bladder urged otherwise and he careful slipped out of the bed. He replaced the duvet around Sherlock, who shifted and grumbled softly in his sleep before settling again, and John left for the bathroom, wondering what it would be like to wake up like that everyday.

When he was done, he headed downstairs after poking his head into Rosie’s room, finding her, surprisingly, still asleep, and entered the kitchen. Molly was already in there, making tea with her hair loose around her shoulders, "Good morning" she said as he sat down at the table.

"Mornin’" he mumbled back, raking a hand through his hair and grimacing when his fingers caught on knots, "How’d you sleep?" 

"Well, actually" Molly turned and handed John a mug of tea before going about making herself one. He thanked her quietly and took a sip, relishing in its familiar warmth and taste. Oddly enough, Molly was always the one who could make his tea properly and he could always count on her for a good cuppa. Lord knows Sherlock tries, but the only time he spends in the kitchen is to work on his experiments and is painfully inexperienced when it comes to food or drink.

"Did Rosie wake up at all last night?" He asked, thinking back to his quietly snoring daughter upstairs.

"Once, but it was nothing serious" Molly finished making her tea sat down opposite John in the chair Mary used to sit in. He needed to stop thinking of it as hers, but it was hard when there wasn’t a time before Mary in that house. "I think she just wanted to be held" Molly continued thoughtfully, taking a sip from her mug, "Fell back asleep after I took her out of her cot for a couple of minutes"

John nodded, "Thanks for taking care of her on such short notice, it means a lot"

Molly waved a hand dismissively, "It’s nothing, you know I love looking after her" she said with a reassuring smile that John could only half return. Even with Molly’s assurance that it wasn’t a bother, he couldn’t help the guilt that settled in the pit of his stomach.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, drinking their teas and listening to the quiet sounds of the morning, where the world outside began to stir into wakefulness. It was odd to think that London could be so tranquil, however short-lived it may be and it was one of the things John loved about the place.

"I wanna tell you what happened last night, but I’m honestly not entirely sure of the specifics," John said suddenly and Molly looked at him with slightly raised eyebrows.

"What do you know?" She asked, clasping her mug a little tighter despite the uncomfortable heat of it pressed into her palms.

John sighed and took a large gulp of his tea before answering, "Sherlock…has a sister"

Molly blanched, blinking a couple of times before her brow furrowed, "Okay…did she call you or something?"

"Not exactly. From what I know from Greg, his sister trapped Sherlock and Mycroft in the prison she’s been kept at since she was little and put them through…tasks" he spat out the last word like it tasted foul, "Really horrible stuff and…she tricked Sherlock into thinking she’d set up my house with bombs and that they’d go off unless he got me to tell him I love him"

Molly’s eyes had slowly widened throughout John’s explanation and her hand slowly rose to cover her mouth seemingly of its own volition, "That’s awful"

John simply nodded before continuing, "So he got me to say it and…well he found out that it was true…" Molly nodded encouragingly, reaching out to rest her hand over his, " and…he feels the same"

The pathologist’s face lit up with a grin and she squeezed John’s hand, "Really? That’s amazing, John! Holy shit!"

Slightly surprised at the language, John smiled back, "Yeah, it just…it wasn’t the best circumstance, y’know?" He said and Molly seemed to sober slightly, her smile slipping off her face a little.

"Right, yes, I see" she nodded and gestured for John to continue.

"So the line went dead and I panicked because he was being weird the whole time, so I called you to look after Rosie and went to Greg. I was lucky he was on duty at the time and we got a call from Mycroft not long after, telling us about what happened and that Sherlock was at Musgrave with Eurus, their sister" John looked down into his mug and twirled it around to create ripples in the beverage it held, "We went over there and I had to wait for Sherlock to be checked over and when I saw him…" he trailed off to drag his hand across his head, the image of Sherlock standing like he wasn’t sure his own feet could keep him upright and the darkened rings around his bloodshot eyes still branded in his vision whenever he closed his eyes. "He looked like hell"

Molly bit her lip and tapped her nail against her mug, "Yeah he didn’t look great when you guys turned up…"

"Yeah, well…he had a proper cry while we were there, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that upset before" John took another sip of his tea and grimaced when he found it to be cold. He opened his mouth to continue when they heard a thin, high pitched wail from upstairs. They both glanced at the door and made a move to get up to tend to Rosie when the gentle thump of feet crossed the landing upstairs and a low, soothing voice cooed to the whimpering baby. John looked over at Molly, who shared the same look of bemusement as Sherlock’s muffled voice carried over the tiny cries of John’s daughter.

A smile slowly spread on Molly’s face and she rose from he seat to start making tea for when Sherlock inevitably came downstairs. Her amusement was contagious, it seemed, as John felt his own grin forming on his face and he settled back into his chair, listening to the soft noises upstairs.

"He really is fond of her, isn’t he?" Molly said when Sherlock’s soothing murmurs turned into a quiet lullaby and Rosie started to giggle instead of cry.

"Oh, he’s absolutely smitten" John agreed, chuckling along with Molly as footsteps padded from Rosie’s room to the stairs.

"What are you two giggling about?" Sherlock asked when he entered, looking slightly ridiculous in one of John’s dressing gowns and with a baby batting at his chin. Rosie was cradled close to his chest and John almost forgot about all that had taken place yesterday at the sight of them both.

"Nothing you should be concerned with" Molly replied, smiling at Sherlock when he shot her a suspicious glare as he went about getting Rosie’s formula.

"Sleep well?" John asked, rising from the table to dump the rest of his cold tea in the sink and retrieve Rosie’s bottle for Sherlock.

"Very" Sherlock replied, handing Rosie off to John so that he could mix the formula with the water. The little girl squealed happily when her father kissed her forehead and clutched at his shirt with tiny fists. John hugged her tight and refused to wonder if Sherlock’s we’ll rest was because of his presence in the bed.

"Good. Did you change her?" He asked, watching Sherlock shake the bottle with practised ease as he nodded with a hummed affirmative. John raised his eyebrows, but Sherlock didn’t seem to take notice as he handed to bottle to John and sat down at the kitchen table. Molly placed his mug in front of him and he took a few long, appreciative gulps of the beverage before putting it back down and wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

"Will you two be alright with Rosie once I leave? I can always take her back to mine if she’ll be too much trouble" Molly offered lightly, coming closer to John to gently stroke Rosie’s blonde curls as she drank her formula. John knew she was giving them the chance to talk without interruption, but looking down into his daughter’s large blue eyes made the guilt that had already made a home in his stomach rear its head like a kind of sinister beast.

"I think we’ll be alright, and you have a shift at Bart’s later, don’t you?" John tore his eyes away from his happily eating daughter to see Molly nod reluctantly.

"Unfortunately. But you’re sure you’ll be fine?" She asked again, this time glancing over at Sherlock, who had been silently listening to the conversation.

"Don’t worry about us, Molly. Besides, you have a lunch date I doubt you’ll want to miss out on later" He said with a small smirk, lifting his mug to take another sip.

Molly’s cheeks flushed, "How did you know?" She asked, lips twitching as she fought off a smile.

"Your shampoo" Sherlock replied simply, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. A common theme with the detective.

"Yeah, Molly, go get ready for your date and we’ll be fine here. I promise one of us will call if we ever need your help" John chimed in before Molly’s flush spread further than her cheeks. The pathologist sighed but nodded and kissed the top of Rosie’s head before disappearing from the kitchen to get dressed.

Silence was left in her wake, broken only by Rosie’s suckles as she finished her breakfast. Regardless, it lay thick on the two remaining in the kitchen and they avoided each other’s eyes. The air prickled with the charged energy they both kept withheld from the other and John wished he could be as obliviously happy as his daughter. She finished her formula and John dropped the bottle into the sink so that he could adjust her to half lean over his shoulder. He stole a glance over at Sherlock and found him watching them with the ghost of a smile on his face.

After he’d burped Rosie, Molly came back into the kitchen to say goodbye, her overnight bag hanging from her shoulder. Rosie reached out to her when she came close and she gladly took the little girl into her arms. "You promise you will call if something goes wrong," She said as she bounced Rosie lightly, much to her endless amusement.

"In the unlikely event that something does happen, we will call," Sherlock said, he’d risen from his chair and gently squeezed Molly’s shoulder as he passed on his way to the sink.

Unconvinced, she looked over at John, who offered a small smile, "What he said" he jerked his head in Sherlock’s direction.

Seemingly satisfied, Molly nodded and handed Rosie to Sherlock when he held his arms out for her. The little girl smiled wide and babbled nonsense at the buckets of affection she was receiving that morning. With one last kiss to Rosie’s head and a hug from both John and Sherlock, Molly left the house, the shutting of the front door sounding far louder than it was in that charged silence.

John chewed on the inside of his cheek, arms folding across his chest as he leaned back against the kitchen counter. Rosie was brushing her tiny fingers through Sherlock’s wayward and fuzzy curls in his peripheral, however, he didn’t turn to look at them, knowing that if he did he may lose his nerve.

"Sherlock-"

"I know" Sherlock interrupted, and this time John did look at him, finding his face solemn as he dipped his head to give his goddaughter better access to his hair. "I know we have to talk, but I just-…" he sighed and trailed off, but John understood. They both knew that whatever the outcome of their conversation would be, their relationship would change. Whether it be noticeably or not, it didn’t matter, the change was inevitable and neither was sure if they were ready.

"Yeah…" John said vaguely and found himself shuffling closer to his best friend. Rosie, momentarily distracted from Sherlock’s curls, gave John a gummy smile and reached for him with grabby hands. He let her grab onto his hand and play with his fingers for a while, enraptured by her tiny giggles and curiosity about the difference in their hand sizes. He hadn’t realised how stiff Sherlock had become until their shoulders bumped and John noticed their proximity, "Oh- sorry, am I-"

"No, no it’s…it’s fine" Sherlock interjected and relaxed with some effort. Watching him a little longer, John nodded and returned his attention to his daughter. She looked between the two of them before letting go of John’s hand to resume playing with Sherlock’s hair.

"We should probably settle her down somewhere," John said after a while, glancing up at Sherlock to gauge his reaction. His face was decidedly blank as it usually was when confronted with facts he was not quite ready to digest, but he nodded if a bit reluctantly.

Sherlock wandered out of the kitchen and into the living room while John went about making another two cups of tea. He took extra care into making the drinks and he knew he was stalling, though did nothing remedy it. Once the drinks were finished, he carefully trailed into the living room and gently set the mugs on the coffee table.

Sherlock had set Rosie down on her mat with the toys dangling over her head. She giggled and raised her arms to bat at the colourful, plastic animals above her while Sherlock sat tentatively on the sofa. John joined him a moment later and they found themselves in that familiar charged silence that only seemed to encapsulate them. It was rare that their silences ever penetrated anyone nearby, even if they appeared aware of it's presence, and even more so Rosie, who continued to be blissfully unaware of the thick tension between the other two in the room.

"Are you still angry with me?" Sherlock finally asked, not shifting his gaze from where he’d locked it on Rosie.

John sighed, "I think so, but not so much about last night…" he chewed on his lip thoughtfully. "Obviously, I’m a bit peeved that you left me out of the loop" Sherlock shifted uncomfortably beside him and he resisted the urge to reach for him, "But the phone call was out of your control…I didn’t realise at the time that…well…I knew something was off about it, not that your raving lunatic of a sister was putting you up to it-"

"She didn’t- you don’t think that-" Sherlock groaned in frustration and buried his face in his hands. John watched him patiently, waiting for him to find the words and knowing that this wasn’t exactly his forte. Hell, it was hardly his speciality either. "When I told you that I-…that I love you, I meant it," Sherlock said after a deep breath, "You told me to give you a reason to say it and I gave you one. It’s true." He was still avoiding John’s gaze and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

John’s heart fluttered and he placed a hand on Sherlock’s back, rubbing it in a soothing circle, "I know, I didn’t mean it in that way" he reassured and felt the taut muscles in Sherlock’s back loosen a little. "Though, I was going to say that I think I’m still a bit angry with you about the fall"

Sherlock straightened at that, staring at John with a perplexed expression, "But I said I was sorry" He said, his voice rising into a question as if he couldn’t quite remember if he actually had.

"Yes, but you can’t just say that and expect everything to be okay again. Two years, Sherlock. If you had just told me none of this would have happened" Even as he said it, John knew he couldn’t and wouldn’t change much about their current situation. His eyes trailed guilty over to where Rosie was still lying across her mat with one of the toys she’d pulled from its string hugged to her chest.

Sherlock, sharp as he was, read his glance and shook his head minutely, "I know what you meant…" he said softly, "And I understand now, not fully, but-…I get why you acted the way you did. I was foolish back then and…" Sherlock bit his lip and his eyes shone with tears as he swallowed thickly, "I doubted you"

John’s raised his eyebrows, but didn’t speak, waiting silently for Sherlock to continue, which he did after a moment of trying to compose himself.

"It was one of the most idiotic things I’ve ever done and I knew it the second I heard you at my grave"

Something hot and angry flared in John’s chest and he fought to keep his voice neutral, "If you knew then, why didn’t you say anything?" He retracted his hand from Sherlock’s back and tried to keep himself calm. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was reacting so strongly, but he thought it better to focus on keeping it at bay and analyse it later.

"Because…" Sherlock swallowed and began wrapped and unwrapping the tie on the dressing gown around his hand. "Because I was scared"

The effect was almost immediate as John softened and the fire that had been coursing through his veins extinguished as quickly as it had lit. The ever-burning flame in his chest, however, only dulled to a tiny flicker, forever a memory of the white-hot fury he’d felt that night Sherlock had shown up at The Landmark.

"Mycroft didn’t think it was a good idea to tell you and I was already too exhausted from Moriarty’s games to argue with him" Sherlock continued, angrily swiping at his eyes that had begun to tear up again. They could both clearly remember those last adrenaline-fuelled days leading up to the fall. They were both on edge and tired from both the lack of sleep and the mental strain the endless stream of mind games Moriarty laid out for them.

"Well, at least now you can say Mycroft got something wrong," John said lightly, and the tiny chuckle from Sherlock alleviated some of the tension. When his laughter started tapering away, he looked over at John and they stared at one another for a moment until one of them snorted and they both dissolved into delirious giggles.

"I don’t think this is okay," John said breathlessly between giggles and Sherlock shook his head, lost to his own laughter. Rosie had rolled onto her stomach and was attempting to push herself up onto her hands and knees, a large smile on her face as she watched the two men laugh. John eventually found the strength to stand and plucked his daughter from her mat, tossing her into the air briefly just to hear her excited giggles. He kissed her cheek and settled her on his hip, ribs still aching from his previous laughter.

"How about we take the little one for a walk? I could do with the fresh air and I reckon you’ll want a break from all of that sentiment" John offered, shifting Rosie up higher.

The corner of Sherlock’s mouth quirked up in that genuine half-smile John adored and the detective rose from the sofa. "Yes, I think a walk will do all three of us some good," he said, walking over to the two Watsons and reaching up to gently pull a bit of fuzz from Rosie’s hair.

John grinned, "Great, I’ll get Rosie ready and you get yourself dressed" he turned to head up the stairs but Sherlock’s voice stopped him at the base and he looked at the detective with a furrowed brow.

"For what it’s worth, John" Sherlock started, pausing to catch John’s eyes, "I’ve never doubted you since…"

John’s smile returned and he nodded, bounding up the stairs before it could grow any larger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter done!  
> I don’t think I’ll post before New Years (literally tomorrow where the hell does the time go!?) so in case I don’t emerge from my tiny fanfic hole, have a great New Year, stay safe and let’s hope for a better year <3  
> Lotta love  
> ~ G


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [In which there is a walk in the park and confessions]

John was stupidly excited to spend the day with Sherlock. After Mary’s death and the events that followed, neither had had the time nor desire to be in each other’s presence for more than was necessary. Perhaps that was more on John’s end at the time, but even then he had felt that keen longing to be around Sherlock he’d had during the two-year hiatus. Now though, they had all the time in the world to pick their way through the shambles of their relationship with no psychopaths or megalomaniacs to interrupt them.

Rosie was surprisingly obedient when John dressed her. It could be the good night's sleep or the abundance of affection she’d received that day, perhaps even a mixture of both. Either way, her joy was contagious and once she was dressed warmly, John kissed her forehead and picked her up off the changing table.

When he entered the bedroom, Sherlock was just tucking his shirt into his trousers, his jacket laid out on the bed beside him. John was pleased to note that his hair was still slightly fuzzy from when he’d woken up despite his obvious attempts at taming it. On one of the pillows on the bed was the jumper John had loaned him, a neatly folded and wordless thank you that Sherlock knew John would catch. It was an odd thing to make butterflies flutter in the pit of John’s stomach, but there they were as he handed Rosie to Sherlock, much to the little girl's delight.

"D’you mind taking her downstairs? I won’t be long" John said, already pulling clothes out from his wardrobe.

Sherlock, who had been making faces at his squealing goddaughter, looked up and smiled, "Of course" he replied before his attention was recaptured by Rosie’s flailing arms and he grabbed his jacket before leaving the room. Rosie and Sherlock’s combined giggles faded down the hall and John couldn’t stop the smile from spreading on his face even if he tried.

As he was pulling his clothes on, John noticed Sherlock’s coat hung up on the back of the door and grabbed it on his way out of the room. It was nearing May, which meant sunny days were becoming increasingly common, however, what with it being England, it never guaranteed a warm day. It was unlikely that Sherlock would care and John didn’t want him to catch a cold on top of whatever revelations he’d had last night that he still hadn’t told John about.

Sherlock was sitting on the living room floor (now with his jacket on, but unbuttoned) with Rosie in front of him when John walked in. Between them was a colourful plastic box with different shaped holes in the top and Sherlock was directing Rosie in putting the right shape in the right hole, pointing at whichever one correlated with the shape she had in her hand. He seemed to be having little success as Rosie was more interested in trying to eat the shapes rather than slot them into their proper place, giggling whenever he hurriedly pulled the shape from her mouth only for her to carry on her persistent chewing and for the cycle to continue.

"She’s doing it on purpose, I swear," Sherlock said without looking away from his goddaughter. John chuckled and deposited Sherlock’s coat into his lap as he passed to pick Rosie up. She raised her arms to him but didn’t drop the shape she had been holding until John picked up the box and she clumsily shoved it into the right hole. Immediately she looked to Sherlock, who stared open-mouthed at the two of them, "You little minx!" He cried and now both Watsons were laughing.

•  
•

The sky was moderately clear with a few snowy white clouds drifting lazily in the chilly breeze and blocking out the sun occasionally. John had Rosie in her carrier and she had her head tilted back towards the sky, staring at the shapeless fluffs that coiled in the endless blue with fascination. Sherlock walked beside them and had to bite his lip to stop the chuckles that threatened to bubble out of his throat, finding the image of Rosie looking at clouds open-mouthed and wide-eyed extremely amusing. John was grinning too, unable to wipe it from his face as he continued to walk down the street with his two favourite people in the whole world.

It wasn’t long before Regents Park was in sight and they passed through the wrought iron gates onto the worn path that snaked between stretches of half-dead grass. With the swift approach of spring, the once yellowing and dry grass was returning to its former green glory as it often was in the summer. Very few parents with their children had decided to have a picnic on such a cool day, but there were still a couple dotted across some of the grassy areas. Their children ran through the tiny gathering of trees not too far from where their parents had set up and they ducked and weaved in an attempt to hide from one another. A tiny dog that would probably barely reach halfway up John’s shins was skittering around the children, it’s excited yaps mingling with the high pitched giggles and squeals.

Rosie, intrigued by the noise, watched the children and their dog as they passed, watching as they disappeared momentarily before reappearing a couple of meters from where she lost sight of them.

"What do you reckon she’ll be like when she’s a bit older?" Sherlock suddenly asked and when John looked up at him, he too was watching the children with a veiled fondness in his eyes. His adoration for Rosie had come as a bit of a surprise to John, a pleasant one at that. The first time he’d held Rosie was the same day she had been born. Mary had fallen asleep and John called Sherlock in as the detective hadn’t been allowed in the room during the birthing process. John had handed the tiny baby over to Sherlock, who’d held her with such care he may have been convinced she was made of glass. She was still slightly pink and she’d scrunched up her nose before settling against Sherlock’s chest, falling asleep almost immediately. John would forever believe he had seen Sherlock hold his breath when the baby cuddled into him and he would be lying if he didn’t feel overjoyed at the whole experience. It was almost like an initiation and Sherlock had passed with flying colours.

"If she continues to be around you, then far too smart for her own good" John teased, though Sherlock’s face fell slightly and his gaze snapped to John’s.

"If?"

John felt the blood drain from his face and he stopped walking, Sherlock coming to stop beside him, "I-I just meant…well I wasn’t sure if you’d…want this, y’know?" He almost immediately regretted his words as Sherlock’s eyebrows raised in disbelief, "I mean- I want you to know you have a choice in this"

"I think we both know how much I care for Watson," Sherlock said, his face relaxing into something more neutral, "If I didn’t want to be a part of her life I wouldn’t be here today. So long as you’ll let me I will always be there for both of you"

Tears welled up in John’s eyes and smiled up at his best friend, the man he loved. "Of course I’ll let you. She deserves you in her life" He said, voice a bit wobbly, and he ducked his head slightly to blink back tears. If Sherlock’s eyes were slightly shiny when he looked back up, neither mentioned it and they kept walking.

They continued in silence wherein Rosie's eyes began to drop and her head rested heavily on her father’s chest. She was almost completely asleep by the time they left the park and they paused just outside the gate.

"Should we go to a café?" John asked and Sherlock glanced down at his watch before nodding.

"Yes, I think so. There’s a nice one nearby and I’m sure Watson would appreciate the warmth" Sherlock said and reached over to gently stroke Rosie’s cheek with the back of a finger. She whined and swatted blindly at the retreating hand as both men chuckled.

"Let’s head over then before this one gets too cold," John said, and they walked down the street with Sherlock leading the way

•  
•

The café, as Sherlock had promised, was nice. Tiny and quaint with rustic decor and warm, dim lights. It smelt strongly of coffee and pastries and the pleasant murmur of voices added to the homey feel.

Sherlock was ordering their food and drinks while John looked for a table. He found a small booth in a more secluded corner that offered privacy and he slid onto one side. He carefully undid Rosie’s carrier once he was settled and pulled her out, disturbing her from the light doze she had been in since they left Regent’s Park. He set the carrier beside him and settled his daughter on his lap, where she leaned into his chest and drifted off into sleep.

Sherlock appeared after a while with a tray of their food that he gripped tightly as he cautiously weaved through the different tables and towards John. Rosie stirred when the smell of freshly baked pastry wafted in her direction and she cracked open her eyes. John chuckled, "Of course now she’s awake," he said, adjusting his daughter more comfortably and waking her up even more.

"She’s not allowed any of this yet, is she?" Sherlock asked as he sat opposite John, shrugging his coat off of his shoulders and letting it pool around him on the seat.

"No, not really, she can have a little bit of juice and water, but never too often" John answered, trying to coax Rosie back to sleep before she started having a fit over being denied the food on the table. Sherlock hummed sympathetically and picked up one of the sugar packets haphazardly dumped in a pile on the tray.

They spoke quietly about mundane things over their food as Rosie drifted back off; previous cases, plans for Rosie’s future, her first proper Christmas and birthday. They skirted around the edges of what they should be talking about, ducking out anytime they felt that they got to close or that a subject was still too raw and painful to breach. It wasn’t until there was a lull in their conversation that Sherlock spoke up;

"She killed my best friend…"

John almost choked on his coffee when he inhaled sharply, forcing him to quickly swallow it properly and clear his throat before he spat it out all over Rosie. Sherlock didn’t react and continued to blindly stare out the window with his coffee cup clasped between his hands.

"Eurus did?" John asked after composing himself, his voice soft and careful. Sherlock nodded and John saw him swallow hard.

"Victor Trevor" The detective’s wavered on the boy’s name and John’s heart sank to his feet, his whole body going cold as he sagged back in his chair, a contrast to Sherlock’s stiff muscles and straight back.

"I’m so sorry, Sherlock" he breathed, adjusting Rosie and reaching across the table to pry Sherlock’s hand from his cup and lace it with his own. He squeezed gently and felt a small ounce of relief when there was a tiny squeeze in response.

"It was years ago. She’s back in Sherrinford now so…" Sherlock trailed off and his gaze slid from the window to his and John’s entwined hands. He moved his own so that he could gently trace his thumb over the thin lines of John’s plans before speaking again. "He was my only friend…apparently I was so traumatised at the time that I ‘re-wrote’ my memories into thinking I had a dog instead. Redbeard." His lips quirked up slightly at the mention of his (imaginary) dog, "And when Eurus was sent away I gradually forgot about her. Until recently."

John watched Sherlock’s eyes mist up and had to swallow down his own tears when the bitterness seeped into his friend’s tone towards the end. They sat in silence, John unable to think of an appropriate response and Sherlock unwilling to elaborate. John knew he would in his own time, (this confession, alone, was a breakthrough) and he didn’t mind waiting, he just wished he could ease the pain, even just slightly.

Sherlock suddenly retracted his hand as if burnt and sniffed loudly, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve, "Sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your day. It was supposed to be a nice break, but now I’ve just-"

"No, no, Sherlock," John interjected, "It’s fine, I promise. I don’t mind, I’m glad you opened up. It’ll help me help you"

Sherlock sneered a little at that, but he softened and nodded once. John beamed and caught Sherlock’s eye, eliciting that shy smile that was reserved only for those closest to the detective.

"Good. Now eat your food, you’ve barely touched it" John said, leaning back and nudging Sherlock’s plate closer to him, ignoring the eye roll it caused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THIS IS SO LATE.  
> I procrastinated and this chapter is a lil’ bit shorter than the others but compared the the last chapter it’s not too bad.  
> Anyway, happy new year!  
> Lotta love  
> ~ G


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [In which there are tantrums and plans are made]

When they arrived home, the sky had darkened slightly and the clouds were tinted pink by the slowly setting sun. It sent warm light pooling into the living room and onto the soft rug under the coffee table, where the two cups of tea John had forgotten about still sat side by side.

Rosie had gotten fussy on the way home and was squirming in Sherlock’s arms, having been handed over to him halfway there when she’d started thumping at her father's chest. She whined irritably as Sherlock tried to hush her with gentle kisses to her cheeks and forehead, though she soon began to angle her head away and push at his chin.

"The formula would be great right about now," Sherlock said over the beginning hiccups of an oncoming crying fit and John hid his smile by hurriedly dipping into the kitchen. It was a little funny to see Sherlock struggling to get a good grip on Rosie and making a face when she wailed a little too loudly in his ear. His daughter’s cries had only gotten louder as John impatiently waited for the microwave to finish heating up her formula, Sherlock’s gentle coos almost entirely drowned out in the noise.

When the formula was finally ready, John half ran into the living room and took his still flailing daughter from a very frazzled looking Sherlock. It took a couple of tries to get Rosie to drink it, but she eventually latched on and drank sulkily. "There you go, see? No need for all that fuss" John said, swaying a little and smiling down at her still red face.

"I think she’ll want a nap after this" Sherlock piped up, his voice a lot closer than John expected, and reached forward to carefully wipe a tiny tear that lingered on Rosie’s cheek. Normally she would have already had her nap that day, but what with the outing and losing track of time, she’d missed it and now she wouldn’t sleep until later that night. Missed naps also often meant a long night of screaming and little to no sleep for everyone in the house. However, if she was on the verge of throwing another fit, John was willing to risk the sleep deprivation to avoid that.

"Yeah, definitely" John replied, enjoying the warmth radiating from Sherlock standing behind him. He wanted to lean back into the detective’s chest but the uncertainty of their situation made him keep himself upright.

Rosie had just finished her formula when Sherlock’s phone rang and she scrunched up her face at the sudden noise. Sensing the impending doom, Sherlock grabbed the empty bottle and his phone and disappeared into the kitchen to take the call. John watched him go, a tiny hiccup from Rosie being the only thing that broke him from his daze and prompted him to go upstairs to settle her into bed. She went down surprisingly easy, having tired herself out from her tantrum and the long day outside. John pressed a kiss to her forehead and tucked one of her stuffed animals closer to her before shutting the curtains and silently exiting the room.

When he got back downstairs, John paused outside the kitchen, listening to Sherlock’s voice.

"Yes…yes I know, Mummy but-…right, but he-…I know…so you’ve said…no I’m not!"

John entered at Sherlock’s offended tone and cocked his head to the side in question. Sherlock had taken off his coat and draped it over one of the chairs at the kitchen table and was perched on the counter, ankles crossed. He shook his head at John with an exasperated expression before returning to his conversation.

"Mum-…really I’m not…can y-…is Father there?…I want to speak with him" He cast his eyes up to the ceiling and whispered as an aside, "Because I can’t seem to get a word in edgeways with you" John snorted as he made his way to the sink. "Nothing, Mummy! Just please get Father"  
John burst into giggles at the swift change in tone and Sherlock shot a glare in his direction. "Hi…yes she was…no I’m fine, I promise…he is…you want-…he’s a bit busy right now…right, yeah, of course…has Mycroft spoken to either of you?… ah…uh-huh…" John perked up and tried to catch Sherlock’s eye, which took far longer than was necessary.

" _Was that about me?_ " He mouthed to Sherlock and the detective squinted back. John huffed, " _Was that about me?_ " He repeated, slower and raising his voice to something just below a whisper. Sherlock flushed and nodded, breaking eye contact and returning to his father.

"Yes, tomorrow…okay…yes, you too…but I-…fine, I love you too…yes, goodbye…bye" He ended the call and sighed tiredly, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. 

"What was that about then?" John asked, rinsing out the mugs and bottles that had accumulated in the sink.

"Mycroft told my parents about Eurus. They thought she died years ago and now they’re pissed beyond reason with him. Of course, he won’t answer the phone so they come to me" Sherlock explained, dropping from the counter and wordlessly coming to stand beside John to dry the mugs he’d washed.

"Right, but I meant the bit about your dad asking after me. Oh, and what’s happening tomorrow?" John asked, handing the last mug to Sherlock and drying his hands on a tea towel.

"Oh, that" Sherlock cleared his throat, "My father wanted to speak with you, probably just making you promise to look after me or some such nonsense" he waved a hand dismissively, "And tomorrow we’re meeting at Mycroft’s office to talk things out. I’ve no idea how they managed to get him to agree to it but…" he trailed off with a shrug and tucked the mug away into a cupboard.

"Why did you say I was busy?" John asked, trying to conceal the grin he could feel pulling at his lips at Sherlock’s faintly pink cheeks.

"I…saved you to the trouble of having an unnecessarily long conversation with my father" His voice was only slightly uncertain and John raised an eyebrow, scrutinising him before letting it slide with a shrug.

"Whatever you say," He said lightly, turning and leaning against the counter, "Do you need me to come with you tomorrow?"

Sherlock paused and drummed his fingers against the draining board, "No, I don’t think so" he said after a moment, his brow furrowed, "I reckon I’ll just be the buffer between them; stop things before they get too ugly"

John’s lips twitched at the image of Sherlock watching his brother get chewed out by their parents with amusement and knew the younger Holmes would wait a while before saving Mycroft from their wrath. "What time do you have to be there?" He asked, unable to keep the hint of laughter from his voice and Sherlock grinned.

"Mycroft will probably send a car, but I think we agreed on 3 pm," He said, hoisting himself back onto the counter again and crossing his ankles.

John smirked, "Good. You’ll need the lie-in because the wee devil upstairs won’t go easy on us tonight," he said and chuckled at Sherlock’s groan, "We’ll take turns and I’m not above kicking you out of bed if you won’t get up on your turn" he nudged Sherlock, who’s face had warmed again at the sheer domesticity of their conversation.

"Fine" He sighed dramatically and slid off of the counter, "How about Chinese for dinner?" He said over his shoulder on the way to the living room, pausing to turn at the door. The light from the living room window glowed from behind Sherlock, outlining him in gold in the same way it had that morning, only it was warmer and Sherlock was smiling slightly as he looked back at John.

John had to blink a couple of times before he could respond, "The usual place?" Sherlock nodded, "Sure" he shrugged and waited for Sherlock to disappear through the door before he let out a shaky sigh. John could swear the bugger kept doing that on purpose.

•  
•

The evening passed in a blur of takeaway and baby toys. Rosie had woken up halfway through their meal and was settled in a circle of her toys. Sherlock and John alternated between being sprawled out on the sofa and sitting beside Rosie to play with her. It had gotten dark outside and the little girl had yet to show signs of sleepiness, seemingly content to play way past her normal bedtime despite both her father and godfather fighting sleep.

John was entering a pleasant doze when his phone rang out and Rosie squealed in delight. He jolted awake, though his limbs didn’t seem to get the memo and were still heavy as lead when he tried to reach for his phone.

"Turn it off, John" Sherlock groaned from his end of the sofa, his voice muffled by the pillow he’d smushed his face into.

"I’m trying" John grumbled back, fumbling with the sleek device and squinting at the caller ID as he answered the call, "Molly?"

"Hi, John!" Molly’s voice crackled over the line, her voice far too cheerful for this time of night. "Sorry for calling so late, I couldn’t find a spare moment. I’m just checking in to see if everything’s alright?"

John sagged into the sofa, hoping to keep the conversation brief so that he could go back to his half-sleep, "Yeah, no, everything’s fine, wonderful even" he said, ignoring the snort from Sherlock and lightly kicking his leg. The detective yelped and jerked away while John went back to Molly, who had begun speaking again.

"That’s good to hear. Has Rosie been behaving?" Molly asked in his ear and he snorted, glancing at Rosie who’s eyes were finally beginning to droop.

"We all went out after you left, so she missed her nap and got into a bit of a tizzy. She’s still up now but I think she’ll fall asleep soon" He said, stifling a yawn that both Rosie and Sherlock caught. John grinned.

"Oh Christ, good luck with that. It’s Sherlock’s first all-nighter with her isn’t it?" Molly chuckled and John snuck a peek at a virtually unconscious Sherlock.

"Yep. I don’t know if he’ll survive, honestly" He replied and Molly’s laughed crackled through the phone.

"Well, I’ll leave you both to it. Have fun!"

They finished their goodbyes and John ended their call, "I think it’s time for bed, you" he said to Rosie, who blinked blearily up at him when he came over to pick her up.

"Who are you referring to?" Sherlock mumbled. John poked him in his side with his foot,

"Both of you, c’mon," He said loudly, breaking through the haze of Sherlock’s usually racing mind. It had slowed with the exhaustion of looking after Rosie and he counted himself surprised at the toll looking after a child had taken on him. He grunted and slowly slid off of the sofa, stumbling a little as his legs, still heavy from sleep, forgot how to hold him upright. John had already disappeared up the stairs and Sherlock followed, laboriously trekking up the 15 steps to the landing. He poked his head into Rosie’s room and cocked it in question.

"Don’t worry about me, just get yourself ready for bed" John said softly, trying to avoid Rosie’s lazily kicking legs as he changed her.

Sherlock nodded and ducked back out, heading to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face. There was always a spare toothbrush in the bathroom and Sherlock would’ve assumed it was Mary’s if he couldn’t deduce the entirety of it’s use at a glance. He was the only one who had ever used it.

When he was done he hesitated in the hallway, glancing between John’s room and the guest room. Since Molly was no longer using the spare bedroom he didn’t have to sleep in John’s room. Of course, that didn’t mean he didn’t _want_ to sleep with John. That night had been one of the best nights sleep he’d ever had; the gentle huff of John’s breathing and his comforting warmth had lulled him into a sense of security. It had helped immensely after the day at Sherrinford (he still shivered at the mere thought of the place) and he wasn’t quite ready to be alone.

John emerged from his room, having likely finished putting Rosie to bed while Sherlock was in the bathroom, with his pyjamas draped over an arm. He smiled at Sherlock and jerked his head in the direction of his room, "I forgot to tell you earlier that one of your brother’s lackeys dropped off some of your clothes and stuff while you were half asleep. It should be in the box in my room" he said, gently squeezing Sherlock’s arm as he passed on his way to the bathroom. His hand left Sherlock’s skin buzzing and he had to suppress a shudder until the doctor had shut the bathroom door behind him.

The bedroom was as they’d left it; the bed still unmade with the duvet folded to one side, the jumper Sherlock had borrowed folded on the pillow, the wardrobe door slightly ajar and John’s phone perched on the bedside table. The only difference was the cardboard box by the side of the bed Sherlock had slept in that night. Opening it revealed his pyjamas folded on top of his dressing gown that hid the rest of his clothes; enough to last at least two weeks. He smiled slightly and quickly changed into his pyjamas, hooking his dressing gown on the back of the door and relishing in the worn softness of his bedclothes.

The bed was a little cool and Sherlock shuddered, curling into a ball and wrapping the duvet tighter around him after tucking the borrowed jumper under the pillow. John appeared a while later and settled in the bed beside him before clicking off the bedside lamp.

"I hate that," Sherlock said after a moment, his eyes closed and brows furrowed.

John blinked, "Hate what?" He turned his head on the pillow to look at his friend.

"When you’re exhausted, but when you finally get into bed you can’t sleep" Sherlock answered, nuzzling into the pillow and opening his eyes again to meet John’s gaze. The moonlight filtered through the gossamer curtains and provided a soft blue light to illuminate the room. It was warming up considerably now that they were both in bed and the chirps of crickets from the neighbours overgrown garden filled the gentle silence.

John smiled, "Me too" he whispered, searching Sherlock’s face and finding only contentment in the soft expression. He swallowed thickly before speaking again, now just above a whisper, "You said this morning that you meant it when you told me you loved me"

Sherlock nodded imperceptibly, looking more awake than he had all evening. "Yes. I’ve always loved you, John" he murmured, both of them feeling inclined to keep their voices low in the stillness of the night.

"Before the fall?" John couldn’t help but ask, shifting to lie on his side, facing Sherlock.

"Since the day you shot a man to save my life" the detective replied with a playful smile. John huffed a small laugh and reached between them to take Sherlock’s hand in his own, lacing their fingers together and squeezing. "What about you?" Sherlock asked, watching their intertwined hands.

John hummed thoughtfully, "I don’t think I _knew_ until after the fall, but I reckon I’ve loved you since the day we met," he said and Sherlock’s eyes trailed to his, that shy smile still painted on his lips. "I just wish we didn’t have to confess the way we did"

The smile dropped from Sherlock’s face as the memories of the other night returned with a vengeance and John’s heart rose to his throat, immediately regretting his words. He was about to apologise when Sherlock beat him to it, "Well…I doubt we would have on our own…"

John felt a deep ache bloom in his chest at Sherlock’s tone (trying to be hopeful, but ultimately weak) and he squeezed his hand as he tried to come up with a reassuring response. The slightly forlorn look on Sherlock’s face felt like being crushed under a heavy weight, "Then perhaps…it was a blessing in disguise"

He shuffled closer and Sherlock looked up from where he’d been staring at their hands again, expression questioning and painfully innocent. Far too innocent for a man like Sherlock. John’s eyes darted across the detective’s face, unsure of what he was about to do. He knew it was highly unlikely that Sherlock would not reciprocate, but even so, the little niggling fear in the back of his head refused to leave.

Steeling himself, John shuffled even closer - realisation flickered in Sherlock’s pale eyes - and kissed Sherlock.

Sherlock froze and John felt panic surge through his veins. He made to pull away, cursing himself for overstepping a boundary, when a cool hand cupped the back of his head and tugged him back in.

It was pure bliss.

Warmth ran through John’s entire body and he couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped him when Sherlock’s hand moved to cup his face. His lips moved slowly against Sherlock’s, savouring the taste and feel of the detective’s lips against his. He pushed himself up a bit so that he was partially hovering over Sherlock and tentatively swiped his tongue across Sherlock’s bottom lip. Sherlock moaned and parted his lips immediately, fisting John’s shirt in his free hand. John briefly licked into Sherlock’s mouth before pulling back and sucking the detective’s bottom lip between his own, nipping gently and laughing when Sherlock nipped back irritably. He pulled back and kissed Sherlock’s cheek, then the other, then his forehead and the tip of his nose before pressing a chaste kiss to his lips that he chased when he pulled away again.

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something indignant when a high pitched cry rang through the house. John groaned and dropped his head onto Sherlock’s chest, the sharp point of his collarbones pressing into his forehead, "That has to be a record"

"Just under 20 minutes," Sherlock said, a note of humour in his voice. He patted John’s shoulder, "Who’s going first?"

"You" John replied quickly and Sherlock snorted,

"Not a chance," He said, attempting to wriggle out from under John, who curled his arms around the detective’s waist. "Oh- you bastard, let go!"

"Mmm…how about we go together?" John mumbled into Sherlock’s shirt and searched blindly for the hand that kept swatting at him.

"You’re just going to-" Sherlock grunted as he rolled over, switching their places so that he now lay on top of John, "make me go out there- Christ! Your hands are like vices! -and not follow me- let go!" Laughter coloured Sherlock’s words as he tried to pry John’s hands from where they’d interlocked around him.

John let out a long dramatic groan and let go of his newfound lover, "Fine, but you can’t bail the next time she starts screaming" he said as Sherlock scrambled to the other side of the bed, sniggering.

"Yes, yes, whatever, go before she reaches a pitch only dogs can hear" Sherlock waved a hand in the direction of the door and John rolled his eyes as he slipped out of bed and shuffled to the door.

"Oh- John!"

John turned back and shot Sherlock a questioning look that the detective only returned by sitting up and beckoning him over with a finger. Squinting suspiciously, John cautiously made his way back to bed and stood beside Sherlock.

"What- Oh!" John exclaimed as Sherlock tugged him down and kissed him fiercely for a brief moment before pulling away and grinning impishly up at him.

"There, one for luck"

"Cheeky little minx" John teased and kissed the laugh from Sherlock’s lips before he left to tend to his daughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, that was a tricky chapter to write lmao  
> I’ve never written a make-out scene so hopefully it isn’t too terrible. I had to keep finding references and couldn’t bring myself to write parts of it for some reason, but anyways.  
> IT FINALLY HAPPENED!  
> Idk how many more chapters there will be but I think there will be less than 10.  
> So there, another chapter done and dusted.  
> Lotta love  
> \- G

**Author's Note:**

> So!  
> Some of you may or may not remember me writing the same story back in august(I could be wrong on that I haven't fact checked it) as a oneshot. I was really proud of it and it was the first work I ever published on Ao3, but I recently re-read it and wondered why on earth I ever thought it was a good piece of writing.  
> So as I was re-writing it, I started wondering about the aftermath and how John and Sherlock would navigate their relationship after the fact. The next thing you know, I'm jotting down the general layout of a story that is longer than one chapter (crazy, I know).  
> I'm not sure how long this will be or if I will ever finish it, but fingers crossed that it will, eventually, come to a satisfying end.  
> Anyway, wish me luck on actually writing a proper story and, hopefully, I'll see you on the next chapter,  
> Lotta love  
> ~G <3


End file.
